At the Captain's Command

by Louise M. Gouge

  “Dinah.” Laughing, he strode through the entry and swept her up in his arms and swung her around as though she were one of the children. The odor of many days at sea clung to him, stinging her nostrils. The rough wool of his cape scratched her cheek. “My dear little sister, it’s been far too long.”

  Ignoring his unwashed scent, she clung to him, sobbing, unable to speak.

  He set her down and held her shoulders, his brown eyes round with curiosity. “Are you not pleased to see me?”

  “Oh, Jamie, oh—” She grasped his hand and dragged him toward the house. “I did not hear the harbor bell. Where is your ship?” She glanced toward the street, which was bustling with passersby. “We cannot talk out here.” She could feel his hesitation in the way he pulled against her leading. “You must come now.”

  Once they reached the dim parlor, he swept off his hat and gripped her shoulders again. “What is it? Marianne? The baby?” Alarm tightened his sun-browned countenance, fear filled his dark eyes.

  She pressed both hands to her lips and shook her head, struggling to regain composure. “They are well. You have a beautiful, healthy baby daughter.”

  “Thank the Lord.” Relief softened his features, but now he gave her a gentle, sympathetic frown. “Then what causes your sadness, dear one?”

  He pulled her into his arms, and at last she released the full flood of tears she had held inside these many days. Of all the people in the world, he should bear the weight of her long agony. It was all his fault! She sobbed until her headache flared again. When at last she was forced to pull in deep, gulping breaths to keep from fainting, she was surprised he had let her weep so long.

  He led her to the settee, sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Now, what was that all about?” His teasing tone, which had always gladdened her heart, now stung.

  Sniffing and dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief, she tried to level a harsh look upon him. But his dear face, so warm with sympathy and brotherly affection, kept her from despising him. Lord, how shall I begin? She lifted her fan and waved it before her face. “You will be pleased, I hope, to know that I have met your brother-in-law, Captain Thomas Moberly.” A giddy laugh, punctuated with a hiccough, escaped her at the shock…and worry?…that spread over his face. “I should say, more than met him. We are engaged to be married.”

  Jamie’s face contorted into several expressions she would have found comical in any other circumstance: amazement, confusion, happiness, bewilderment.

  “Engaged.” His mild laugh sounded a bit strangled. “Well, imagine that. I go off for a short voyage and find out someone has stolen my baby sister’s heart.”

  “Oh, stop it, Jamie.” Rage fired up within her, and she stood and paced the floor, gripping her folded fan with both hands. “You are Nighthawk, and my beloved fiancé is out to see you hanged. Oh!” She stamped her foot on the hard tabby floor, and pain shot up to her shin. But that discomfort was minor compared to the agony in her soul.

  Just as Jamie stood up and stepped toward her, she strode across the floor and slammed her fan against him. As the ivory sticks cracked, so did her heart. “You traitor. You rebel. You thief!”

  He did not move, nor did her strike seem to inflict any pain on his thick, broad chest. She swung away from him, sobbing again. A sound from the back of the house reached her ears, and she forced down her emotions. Jamie stared in that direction, and caution filled his face.

  Dinah waved her hand dismissively. “Cook returning from the market.” Cook, who had lost everything she’d owned in Virginia due to the rebellion. Wouldn’t she like to know her mistress now entertained a traitor?

  But the thought stabbed deep into Dinah’s soul. She could never betray her brother, in spite of his betraying all she believed in. Only one consolation came to mind. At least her prayer had been answered and he had not encountered Thomas.

  “Ah.” Jamie slumped back down on the settee. “I’d best leave soon, but first you will hear what I have to say.” He motioned her to sit beside him.

  Clutching her broken fan, she sat in a chair some distance away. “Why are you dressed like this? Where is your ship? Why did we not hear the harbor bell announcing your arrival?”

  He waved away her questions. “We have more important things to discuss.”

  “Very well. What excuse will you give me for your piracy?”

  His wry chuckle reignited her rage, but she managed not to explode upon him again. “Little sister—”

  “Stop calling me little. I am a woman of one and twenty years, the same age that Marianne was when she married you.” She tried not to spit the words out, but she tasted the bitterness in her mouth.

  To her satisfaction, his agreeable nod held no condescension.

  “Dinah, why do you honor a king who would drain the very life out of his colonists, to make them into veritable slaves?” The soft intensity of his voice underscored the fire in his dark-brown eyes. “Why would you willingly pay exorbitant taxes to an unjust tyrant who will not listen to your most reasonable complaints, nor cease to force an oppressive military presence upon you and your neighbors?”

  She glared at him, knowing and hating that he could outwit her in any argument. “The garrison at Fort St. Marks protects us, as do His Majesty’s ships, one of which is commanded by your wife’s flesh and blood—my own betrothed. There is nothing oppressive about it.” The broken fan burned in her hands. Would she ever be able to fix it?

  “But the colonies have been taxed—”

  “Stop.” Dinah stood, thrusting her palm toward him to emphasize the command. “I am not in sympathy with your rebellion, and I never shall be.”

  “Very well.” He stared down and casually brushed a hand over his coarse vest. “Will you call for the soldiers?”

  She huffed out a hot breath. “Oh, the very idea. Of course I should. But—” her voice broke “—how could I bear to see you hanged?”

  He gazed at her so gently, so gratefully, that something settled within her. Her only brother, her enemy, her friend. No, she would never betray him. But neither would she lie for him.

  “I love you, my sister.” His eyes glistened. “I know you and Moberly will be happy.” A chuckle. “Did we all not say the two of you would suit each other very well?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  The front door opened, and Dinah gasped. “Anne.”

  “Yes, just me.” Anne swept in, a basket on her arm. “Why, Jamie Templeton, what brings you here?”

  He rose and bowed to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Hussey. How good to see you, dear lady.” He stepped over and kissed her hand. “To answer your question, I’m going to see my newborn child, but thought I should visit Dinah on my way.”

  Dinah eyed Anne. They all knew the plantation would have been easier for him to reach by way of the St. Johns River and should have been his primary destination. Her mind raced with the questions he’d refused to answer. Why was he dressed as a Minorcan? Where was his ship? And why had he come to see her first?

  Awareness burst into her mind. Jamie had come to say goodbye to her…forever. But why? Until this hour, he’d been unaware that she knew he was the pirate. Perhaps he’d found out someone else in St. Augustine had uncovered his identity. That meant he and Marianne and—Lord, have mercy—the children, were all in danger. Surely they would have to flee East Florida. And yet he had come to see her, to bid her goodbye. He was leaving her, as he always had done, but this time there was no hope of his returning.

  She flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Jamie, I do love you so.”

  He held her for a moment, kissing the top of her head. “May God watch over you, my sister.”

  Sniffing, she struggled to regain her composure and at last gave him a trembling smile. “A word of advice, dear brother. Before you see your sweet wife, do take a bath. You have almost knocked me over.”

  He snorted out a laugh and chucked her chin. “I will do that.”

  With obvious reluctance, he r
eleased her and turned to take his leave of Anne. Then he slipped out the front door. Through the window Dinah could see him hurrying toward the back yard. A few moments later, a noise sounded at the front gate, and Cook struggled through carrying two burlap bags bulging with supplies. At the same moment, the familiar smell of Artemis’s apple-scented hair dressing reached Dinah’s nose, and her heart almost stopped. He emerged from his nearby bedroom and gave her a sly grin, then turned to Anne.

  “What are we having for our midday meal, my dear?” He stroked his long, narrow chin. “Freshly caught fowl?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I must say, Moberly, this is most displeasing to me.” Admiral George Rodney eyed Thomas through his quizzing glass. “To have a captain with a list of laurels like yours resigning in the midst of a war? And just when we have those blackguards and their French allies with their backs to the wall? Just when you came so close to catching one of their most bothersome pirates?”

  Thomas stood before his irascible superior officer trying not to shuffle like a new midshipman. “I understand your thinking, sir, but—”

  “Why, Captain Brett here has nothing but praise for you.” The admiral waved his bony, blue-veined hand toward the transport captain, who stood by the bulkhead in borrowed clothes. “Without your quick actions, his crew would have been lost…drowned, every last one of them. Not to mention the cargo you were able to retrieve.” He stood and paced behind his dark oak desk, a massive, ornate piece of furniture appropriate for the admiral’s large cabin aboard his flagship. “How can you leave His Majesty’s service when you are certain to bag the pirate on your next try?” A cough that seemed to come from the bottom of his lungs punctuated his words. “Sit down, Moberly.” He indicated a chair facing the desk and resumed his own seat behind it.

  Thomas shifted his sword to the side and eased himself into the oak chair. He had not slept well for the past four days since encountering Templeton’s ship, and his body ached with a fatigue equal to the exhaustion of his mind. Countless doubts and suspicions had filled his thoughts, and he still could not sort out truth from speculation.

  Discovering that his brother-in-law was the notorious pirate had shattered his trust in everything and everyone. Even Dinah had not escaped his suspicions, but he could not resolve that until he saw her. She had never seemed anything but thoroughly transparent in her devotion to the Crown. Further, unlike other women he had known, including his late wife, Dinah was utterly lacking in artifice, and her concern for her brother’s safety had appeared genuine. But then, Templeton had always seemed a staunch Loyalist, too. Perhaps she had learned her acting skills from him.

  “Tell me, sir.” Admiral Rodney stared down his long, slender nose at Thomas. “Did you get a good look at the fellow?”

  Thomas swallowed. This was the moment he’d dreaded, but he still did not know how he would answer. He raised an agonizing silent prayer for God’s wisdom as promised in scripture. “At that distance, not a good look, sir.” Not a lie.

  “But enough to recognize the blackguard if you saw him again?”

  “Yes, I would.” Still not a lie. But then, silence about the truth was a lie in itself. And in this case, a hanging offense. “Sir, may I have a word with you in private?”

  The admiral’s naturally high-arched eyebrows rose another half inch. “Of course.” He nodded to the transport captain and his own ship’s commander. “Gentlemen.”

  The two men left, followed by the admiral’s green-liveried steward.

  “Now.” Admiral Rodney leaned across his desk, and a conspiratorial smile curved his lips upward. “What’s this all about?”

  Too late, Thomas recalled the man’s reputation for greed. He must think the Dauntless carried goods recovered from smugglers and perhaps he coveted a share. But it was too late to stop.

  He cleared his throat. “Sir, I find myself in an awkward situation.” He chewed his lip, praying for the right words.

  “Go on, lad.” The admiral’s smile broadened.

  Time to roll out the big guns. “My father, the late Lord Bennington—”

  “Ah, yes.” The smile disappeared, replaced by a grimace and a frown. “I should have said something when you first came aboard. How thoughtless of me. Please accept my condolences.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Thomas coughed into his fist, stalling, praying. “He placed a great deal of trust in an American loyalist merchant captain who became his partner in imports and exports.”

  “Yes, yes.” Rodney’s frown bent into an impatient scowl. “What of it?”

  “That captain—”

  At a sharp rap on the door, the admiral raised a frail hand. “One moment, Moberly.” He stared toward the door. “Come.”

  A slender, youthful lieutenant entered and saluted. “Admiral Rodney, sir, Commodore Hunt wanted me to inform you that his purser has disbursed uniforms to the rescued merchant sailors who’ve signed on with us. And Dr. Savage has reported that another of the merchant sailors has died from his wounds and another lingers near death.”

  The admiral uttered an oath and slammed a fist down on his desk, causing his inkwell to tip. He caught it before damage was done. “Moberly, I have told you I am unhappy with your decision, but you know my own history is fraught with such choices. Remember, like me, you can come back at any time.” He stood and straightened his coat and reached for his bicorne hat.

  Thomas jumped to his feet. Lord, just how far should I push this?

  Rodney settled the hat on his head. “As you re quested, you may sail the Dauntless back to St. Augustine, where you will be relieved of your command. There you are to turn the vessel over to Brandon. That worthy man is overdue for his own ship, wouldn’t you say? As for that protégé of your father’s, I understand the new Lord Bennington will choose his own favorites, and this fellow might be left out in the cold. Write me a letter about him, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Thomas clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping. “Yes, sir.” Should he try again? “But—”

  “You must excuse me. Write that letter. When I receive it, I’ll use my influence as best I can.” He walked toward the door, his frailty obvious in his cautious gait. “However, right now I have something more important to do. As you may know, I have always made it a practice to be solicitous toward the concerns of the lower deck, much to the disapproval of my brother officers.” He waved a hand carelessly in the air. “Matters not to me. I have never failed to grip the hand of a man, whether soldier, sailor or merchantman who lay dying upon my ship. Now, if you will excuse me.” He exited the cabin, leaving Thomas to his thoughts…and fears.

  Had he done all to report Templeton’s treachery? Must he still attempt to give an account of what he knew? Honesty had required him to try, but what did this insane conversation mean? That the Almighty…no, his Father in heaven countenanced the pirate’s actions? Or at least his escape from retribution?

  Praying had been difficult these last four days since the Dauntless had sailed from the scene of the disaster off the coast of East Florida down to the West Indies. The transport ship had been part of a flotilla delivering supplies, arms and ammunition to Martinique, where Admiral Rodney and the British fleet awaited orders regarding the war. Separated in a storm from the British frigates that protected the supply vessels, the transport became easy prey for Nighthawk. Now those stolen arms would fuel the rebellion. Would fuel the hopes of the rebels. Would validate Templeton’s piracy. And where was God in all of this?

  Could Templeton be a Christian and a pirate? If so, did that mean God countenanced the rebellion? Were there not godly Englishmen praying for victory on the battlefields of South Carolina, Virginia and Massachusetts? And yet every day men like Charles Fox argued in Parliament for the release of the colonies from British rule. If Christians on both sides prayed, whose voices were heard in heaven?

  His mind still reeling over the conversation with the admiral, Thomas returned to the Dauntless. Surely God had answere
d his prayers, diverting the admiral’s line of thinking as Thomas tried to divulge Templeton’s treachery. What else could he have done without becoming insubordinate? But the Articles of War demanded that he report what he knew about Templeton, or he could be tried before the Admiralty and hanged for treason. Very well. For his own survival, Thomas would write to Admiral Rodney with all the necessary information. And in the interval, Templeton would have more than sufficient time to avoid capture. Madly, that thought gave Thomas a sense of relief.

  Mr. Brandon received the news of his imminent promotion to captain with his usual self-control, an attribute that had always served him well as an officer. By the next morning, they had their orders in hand, and Thomas stepped aside while his first officer gave the orders to return to St. Augustine.

  Hinton received the news of Thomas’s coming retirement with little emotion, although a glimmer of approval flitted across his eyes upon hearing it. He proclaimed himself willing to remain in Thomas’s service and hovered about the cabin as if trying to prove himself indispensable. The steward already knew every breath Thomas took and had been surprisingly undisturbed by the appearance of the document proclaiming the colonists’ independence. A man would be unwise to let such a discreet servant go, for it gave Thomas the freedom to examine the declaration at will.

  Despite Hinton’s ability to anticipate Thomas’s every need, he had yet to become a mind reader, which proved helpful as Thomas agonized over Freddy’s possible involvement with the rebellion. As close as Templeton and Freddy had been these past four years, with Templeton working as a liaison of sorts between the plantation and Bennington, the two men undoubtedly shared the same ideology. Within a few days, Thomas would no longer have the duty to find out if his brother was a traitor, and he welcomed that freedom. But he also knew he would not feel at peace until his questions about his brother’s loyalty had been answered.

  As the Dauntless skimmed over the waves of the Florida Current, he wondered at his own feelings—or lack of feeling—regarding this voyage. After eighteen years—four as captain of this vessel—this last turn at command surely should have more effect on him. But other than enjoying the brisk ocean breezes and the privileged fare at his table, he came to realize he cared not a whit if he ever sailed again, much less as captain.